


Countdown: 15 Specific Days

by Townycod13



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Burn, meth addicted tweek, other ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13
Summary: After graduation they can finally put an end to a ridiculous lie.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaisleyWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/gifts).



> it is i, the walnut.  
> soooooooooooooooooo paisely is an amazing human being that deserves constant love and affection and my primary method of showering affection is through truly terribly written fiction XD thought it was a good opportunity to put to use some of the creek headcanons i have tho owo
> 
> Fic beta'd by Panaceaa! <3

Somewhere along the line common sense deteriorated in favor of a more entertaining tap-dance of insanity. Hysteria and mutually assured destruction took the place of organization.

Tweek could do without organization, the entire concept of it _irked_ him. It was such a false concept, an individuals notion of what the proper categorizations of reality are. Individuals were, inevitably, biased and unpleasant.

He would take the faulty concept over the trend of insanity that had swept over society and had yet to unclench it from the butt-cheeks of the joke clearly everyone thought it was.

Because everyone just laughed it off. Like a laugh would somehow undo the harm. Like a laugh could in anywa--

He retched again.

At the toilet. Again. In the morning. _Again_.

Always here. It was such a familiar way to wake up he had started to edge towards the idea that everyone must wake up this way as well because if they didn't there had to be something seriously wrong with him.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

He gagged over the bowel full of the contents of last nights dinner. He hadn't been able to eat much, again, so the entire thing just smelled of coffee.

A churning in his gut demanded another cup of the fucking stuff and he questioned for not the first time if he even liked it.

Did it matter?

He dragged himself off the tile, he considered cleaning up the bits that missed the toilet but inevitably determined that he couldn't look at it right now. Not right now. Maybe later. Maybe later when he wasn't thinking about a million ways the chunks of digested meatloaf were a sign of--of--who even knows.

He didn't want to know. Or think about it.

Not now.

Toothbrush. He needed to find his fucking toothbrush.

Then have a lot of coffee.

\--

"You and Craig have the perfect relationship." Clyde was slurping his drink too loudly and glaring too obviously and Tweek _itched_ to tell him to fuck off.

He restrained, mostly because Token would give him that disappointed 'we talked about this, don't snap at your friends like that, you need to learn to control your temper' look that spelled out trouble and he just couldn't fucking deal with that right now.

"GAH--why would yousaythat?!"

Clyde's eyes flickered to a nearby table before back to his longtime friend, "You guys hold hands and have pet names and everyone knows you're a thing," he raised his voice just a touch, a peevish tone to it, "And neither of you feels the need to _keep the whole thing a secret like a stupid jerk_. You guys have something real, you know?"

Tweek had the distinct feeling that Clyde wasn't talking to him anymore but he couldn't decide if he actually gave a fuck.

After all, Clyde couldn't be more off base.

It is in the best interest of most individuals that don't want to have their dirty laundry laid bare for the world to see to avoid lying outright unless necessary. Tweek didn't deem this instance necessary so he just nodded in a distracted way and continued his lunch.

Jimmy and Craig returned from the lunch line and Clyde let the topic die, thankfully.

\--

Oh.

Great. 

Cartman.

 _Yay_.

"Whatthefuckdo you want, Cartman?"

The larger boy sneered down and Tweek wondered if the idiot thought his height advantage equated to an actual advantage in combat. He really wished Cartman would be stupid enough to test that theory if so.

 _Please_ let him be stupid enough. Tweek had been thrumming with energy all day and the chance to knock out the pig was just _so tempting_.

"Why do you think I want anything, Tweekers?"

Tweek briefly considered the temperature of the coffee he was nursing and wondered precisely how much trouble he might get into for 'accidentally' burning off Cartman's stupid face.

"You're standing by my--GAH--locker."

"Oh? This is your locker?" that too innocent twist in Cartman's face. Great. Tweek had the very reliable suspicion he was going to be dragged into something stupid again. "I had no idea!"

Craig was right. Stan and his friends were assholes. Why did he hang out with them when he was younger?

There were so many ridiculous adventures that he just didn't have the patience for right now.

The halls were already emptying and he decided that the few witnesses still there probably wouldn't care to take Cartman's side even in the best of circumstances. He placed his coffee delicately on the ground, no point in wasting the good stuff on a punk like this.

"What are you--" he didn't let Cartman finish.

"LOOK!" he slammed Cartman against the lockers, hands gripping the collar of his jacket, "I don't givea _fuck_ what the hell you're up to but KEEP ME OUT OF IT. Doyouunderstand?!"

His beady little eyes were so wide as he struggled against the grip. It was a hopeless endeavor, Tweek knew there wasn't really any strength in those meaty arms.

"Tweek Tweak! What are you doing?"

Oh well, detention would be worth not getting caught up in whatever bullshit Cartman had planned.

He released the other boy and picked up his coffee, choosing not to give regard to the stares.

\--

Staring at the ceiling was a personal hell.

Sleep would be wonderful.

Sleep would be ideal.

Sleep wasn't going to fucking happen.

Instead every time he closed his eyes a new, and increasingly likely, scenario would cross his mind. There were mild concerns.

What if there's a test tomorrow. What if Clyde was actually angry at him and that entire passive aggressive showcase from the afternoon was his way of expressing his dislike.

What if it rained and he forgot his stupid umbrella again. He itched to check the weather on his phone, barely resisting. If he checked the damn weather he'd be up all fucking night checking everything.

And then there were more pressing concerns.

What if Cartman retaliated? What if he was too late to stop whatever psycho shenanigan the bastard had planned and he was playing right into his hands?

Tweek knew he could kick the fatass into the sun but the aspect that made the detestable boy so abhorrent was his horrifically effective manipulation and diabolical disregard for humane behavior.

Finally, there were the stupid thoughts.

He'd rather spend all night trying to pick apart the ridiculous mind of Eric Cartman then spend another moment of his valuable sleeping time on this shit.

Two more months.

Two more months and he would graduate. He would move to California and Craig was going to Denver and finally, _finally_ , they could put an end to this moronic farce.

Two more months.

No more hand holding.

Craig had surprisingly soft hands, Tweek figured he didn't do much with them, he always gripped with a careful hold. It felt like he was holding Tweek up and keeping him grounded in one. It was, tentatively, nice. Just a touch of fingers but they were gentle and Tweek usually gave them a squeeze in response. Tangle their fingers and dance around Craig's hand. Such a solid but fragile thing.

No more pet names.

Tweek couldn't quite understand them. Names were there for a reason and he didn't appreciate when people fucked around with that. It was one of the few arbitrary systems of organization that society had jointly decided on that actually made any fucking sense. And did it make any sense to call someone 'dear' or 'honey' when there are millions of others that have the same term applied to them? No. It made so sense and the entire concept was dumb. And it was dumb that Craig's lips would curl up a touch when he used one of those absurd generic terms of endearment. And it was dumb that he didn't mind it so much from Craig.

No more dates.

Going about the town like paraded pandas for the entertainment of the masses and hanging out at the arcade for hours because shooter games were better with a partner. The Deli in the mall where they talked about the inevitability of the suns explosion and whether or not it would occur in their lifetime. The stars on Craig's roof when it was just them. Just them and no one watching or expecting and a sky above them and--

His alarm reminded him that yes, it was time to stand up, stagger, feel a wave of uncontrollable nausea and desperately try to control it.

Sleep was a foreign concept.

Two more months.


	2. DAY 5

  
It was definitely for the best that he'd avoided Cartman's stupid fucking shenanigans.   
  
Kenny McCormick's corpse, mangled from the explosion into only barely recognizable, sat at his feet without a shred of dignity.   
  
What a way to die.   
  
He couldn't quite place why but he couldn't quite bring himself mourn the guys passing. Maybe he was in shock?   
  
Maybe there was something wrong?   
  
No, the corpse looked real enough, he'd seen enough of them to know when they were real.   
  
When precisely had he seen a lot of corpses?   
  
He didn't want to think about that.   
  
"Holyshit, are you okay, honey?"   
  
The pet name fell flat somehow. Craig wasn't even looking at the corpse.   
  
Probably for the best. It wasn't exactly pleasant looking.   
  
Tweek couldn't help but wonder if he would be the decaying mass of flesh instead of McCormick if he hadn't shut Cartman down. Or perhaps Craig. Everyone paired the two of them in everything, it would make sense that they would also get paired in a murder plot.   
  
It felt like they weren't even considered separate entities anymore.   
  
Tweek and Craig. One unit. Always together. Always, always, always and never any goddamn choice to it.   
  
The smell of burnt flesh reached his nose and Tweek scrunched it up, "GAH--Doyousmell burning?"   
  
Craig shook his head, "No."   
  
Great, so he was going crazy on top of everything else. Because smelling shit that isn't really there wasn't just a terrible sign in general.   
  
Just lovely.   
  
He filed that away on the long list of things he didn't want to think about at the moment.   
  
\--   
  
Jimmy was great company.   
  
Just not when he's with Timmy.   
  
"Tha-thaa-that's right Tim-Tim! You got it right on the head!"   
  
"TIMMY!"   
  
They were completely absorbed in each others presence. Smiling, laughing at inside jokes, didn't they used to hate each other?   
  
Didn't he used to hate Craig?   
  
He missed those days. Hating Craig was a lot easier than fake-dating Craig.   
  
For starters, whatever attention their fight might garner was based entirely on the merit of strength between them and not on some super-imposed perfection.   
  
Perfection didn't exist, why couldn't anyone fucking understand that, even if he and Craig were in a real relationship--if Craig's feelings were real--if they were real--then that still wouldn't make their fucking relationship perfect.   
  
People were a cornucopia of imperfection, stupidity, and bullshit. The aspects that made Craig interesting weren't some ridiculous role of being a cool, handsome, and caring boyfriend.   
  
That was the surface, maybe, but what made Craig was his stupid babble about the stars and that one dream he had about guinea pigs in space. His insistence on trying experimental things with his recording equipment that were always ultimately mild as fuck.   
  
His hyper competitiveness with stupid Stan Marsh that he tried to hide behind a facade of not caring.   
  
"Ti-timmy?"   
  
"GAH--I'm fine, Timmy. Just... thinking, OK?!"   
  
"Timmy." Timmy nodded knowingly and Tweek decided he'd had enough of their fucking company for today. It was supposed to be his day off.   
  
And there was Craig outside.   
  
He didn't want to deal with this. Not today. There was a reason he'd ditched Craig earlier.   
  
He couldn't remember but he was sure it was fucking important. He didn't make decisions unless they were fucking important.   
  
"I'll see you guys later."   
  
Neither boy stopped him.   
  
\--   
  
"Hey, have you seen Kenny?"   
  
Why the hell was Kyle fucking Broflovski talking to him? Tweek cursed his decision to go to the park.   
  
Tweek shuddered, "NO--" that was too loud, he hadn't meant it to come out that loud, fuck, why, shit, "--I haven't, why?"   
  
Kyle shrugged, looking disturbed and uncomfortable, eyes hyper-focused on the thermal shaking in Tweeks grip.   
  
"...Tweek," Kyle began, that voice he always used before a lecture of some kind, Tweek very much considered scalding him with the drink to avoid it. Would be a waste of coffee. There were better ways to shut Kyle up.   
  
"Oh my gOD, what isCARTMANDOINGOVERTHERE?"   
  
And there went Kyle's attention. Tweek was bright enough to make an escape. No one wanted to listen to Broflovski bitch. And from the way his eyes had flicked at the source of Tweek's sanity... the topic wasn't much of a mystery.   
  
How many fucking times had he heard assholes repeat the same old tired bullshit.   
  
_"Maybe you should drink less coffee--"_  
  
_"--did you know that--"_  
  
_"Addiction is--"_  
  
"Hey, honey."   
  
Oh. There's Craig.   
  
It felt like everywhere he went today, there was Craig. Did it count as stalking if it was your fake boyfriend doing it?   
  
Tweek wasn't sure.   
  
"JESUS CHRIST--! Don't sneakup onmelike that!"   
  
Craig didn't take the bait, instead silently offering a hand that Tweek soundlessly took.   
  
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The familiar and kind grip of a close friend.   
  
It wouldn't be so bad if he couldn't hear each and every little fucking murmor around them.   
  
Tweek's hands clenched thoughtlessly, anxiety coursing through his veins and taking full control of the facilities commonly associated with motor control. Craig's grip remained, just the same, a light squeeze of reassurance in response.   
  
Craig always did that.   
  
It was like he was saying _"I know"_ but not _"It's okay"_ , Tweek liked that.   
  
It wasn't fucking okay.   
  
It would never be okay, a deep feeling inside his bones promised, promised and burned with the fires that made his jaw freeze in a snarl that he tried to disguise as a smile.   
  
Craig, wordlessly, used his free hand to pull out a janky old MP3 player and some ear buds. Tweek didn't resist, but he did side-eye carefully to ensure that Craig gave him the designated left bud.   
  
He was not getting someone else's gross ear wax stuck in his fucking ear.   
  
The sounds around them dulled as the music started. The blood throbbing at his brain and demanding action of some kind, a revolution of quiet and escape from the public eye, began to calm as a gentle guitar joined a piano.   
  
"What song is this?"   
  
Craig shrugged, "Dunno. Downloaded a bunch of random ones off this shady ass website."   
  
Tweek made his displeasure known through a powerless body check, amounting to nothing more than a full body nudge without any of his muscles working into it, "Youshouldn'tgo on those sites. What if yougetfined?"   
  
Craig shrugged again and leaned into the connection as they walked, "I'll deal with it as it comes?"   
  
God, Tweek hated that. Planning ahead. That's how you stay alive, that's how you get through disaster, staying static in this horrifying world is how you die, it's how the world eats you alive and sends your entrails home to your parents so they can see the color of your innards.   
  
Craig was pretty good at handling situations as they cropped up though. Even Tweek had to admit that.   
  
So he didn't quite smile, but he didn't chide either, listening to the strange song continue as they walked home.   
  
He took another sip of his coffee and a wave of nausea overtook him. He began vomiting violently.   
  
From there he couldn't quite recall what happened.   
  
Craig's voice echoed vaguely and Tweek felt the need to apologize.   
  
"GOD I'm sorry--"   
  
Why was he apologizing? It was so dizzy. The world spun. What was Craig saying? Where were they?   
  
How much was he going to vomit?   
  
"--fuckfuckfuck, I'm sorry,"   
  
Was he crying?   
  
Just 54 more days and this would be over.   
  
Craig didn't have to force himself to tolerate this anymore.   
  
No one would. He'd be in California and no one would have to deal with any of this fucking shit and he would be free.   
  
He saw red in the vomit and he laughed out the next few chunks.   
  
Would he even live that long?   



	3. DAY 13

Starks pond was a shitty place to hang out. It was horrid and smelly. The weather was unpleasant and drafty. And his fucking coffee was getting cold.

It was a terrible place to spend the morning but because it sucked so badly only children spent any time around there, most people in his own age group long since leaving it an unpleasant memory.

Apparently it was only most people his age.

"I don't know how you can drink that shit."

Every muscle in his body tensed for a fight. Another asshole making something of a matter they had no business in.

"You want to make something of it?!"

The words escaped before he saw Kenny's relaxed face. There was an easy way that the hooded boy could look at people, gentle assurance that he didn't mean anything by it, and a genuine concern that wasn't coated with knowing arrogance.

It wasn't easy to swallow his aggression, he reasoned he had to, but it wasn't easy. Every single asshole seemed to have an opinion now that he was out of the hospital.

An army of Captain Hindsight's ready to assist with what was very much not their fucking business.

Kenny lifted his own styrofoam cup, hot coco if Tweek was any judge, to offer a cheers.

Tweek, hesitantly, acquisitioned. Eyes still narrowed in suspicion and ready to quite literally tear out Kenny's skull if he had any smarm to offer as well.

"Any reason you're out this early on a Saturday morning?"

Tweek's body did another horrible little involuntary spasm and he pulled at his hair to ground himself. It didn't work.

"GAH! I --I just liketheweather, why do you want to know!? Are you here to spy on me?!"

It wasn't actually an impossibility. Kenny would do anything for a spare buck and there was more than one individual in this town that would like to get ahold of him.

Kenny laughed, easy and clear, taking a sip of his drink, "It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you."

He could actually strangle the frustrating bastard right then. That didn't tell him  _ anything _ . Was it a common turn of phrase to joke about Tweek's apparent condition!? Was it a-not-so-subtle allusion that he had in fact been paid to look in?! Was it some third unseen but ultimately more diabolical category?!

It probably wasn't anything to do with Cartman. Kenny wasn't likely to jump back in bed with that asshole so quickly after the previous debacle. Who had Kenny been hanging out with lately? Had to be someone. Tweek hadn't seen the asshole around with anyone lately.

He hadn't seen Kenny since he'd smelt burning barbeque if he was honest. Hm. Weird.

"Hey... Tweek?"

There was an edge to Kenny's voice, nervous and unhappy, "Have you seen Kyle lately?"

"No, notrecently." he'd been avoiding everyone, especially mouthy-fucking-knowitalls, "Why?"

Kenny shifted, eyes on the coffee and pensive for a moment.

"Tweek, you do know what your parents put in that coffee, right?"

Ah.

Of course Kenny would fucking know.

Their main supplier came from his own backyard.

Tweek felt sick. The sudden wave of nausea was probably the only thing that saved Kenny from a fist to his stupid face. He leaned forward and emptied his stomach.

Then the thought caught up with him and he repeated it.

There was a hand gently rubbing circles into his back and he had half a mind to redirect the flow at the person behind it.

"Tweek, when's the last time you ate?"

The empty contents and stomach acids probably didn't spell out anything good. The jutted out bones in his back were also less than ideal.

"Maybe I don't fuckingwantto eat, okay?!" he snarled, wiping away the last bit of bile, "And maybe I don't fucking  _ care _ what's in the fucking coffee."

He hated that look. An expression of  _ understanding _ . What the actual fuck could Kenny possibly understand about this?! What did  _ any _ of them understand?!

It was just pressure and pressure and pressure and pressure.

They wanted. They took. They destroyed.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. He wouldn't do this anymore. He couldn't do this anymore.

"Fuck you, McCormick, like your shit-GAH--isany less fucked up!"

Kenny wasn't speaking. He was listening. Tweek could box in those fucking ears and then the stupid asshole could see how easy listening was.

"I'M FINE," he wasn't fine, when had he been fine, but that was  _ his  _ fucking business. Not Kenny's. Not Kyle's. Not fucking--

Craig.

"I. Am. Fine!" he ground out, emphatically ensuring that his words didn't slur, eyes burning into Kenny's still passive blue, "Nothing is fucking wrong and it's none of yourfuckingbusiness!"

Why did Kenny have to know? No one should fucking know. Was this pity?! Did the stupid poor bastard  _ pity _ him?!

"I'm  _ fine _ andI don'tneedyou or anyone else,  _ especially not fucking Craig _ , to worry!"

Ah. He'd said too much. He could see a bit of recognition build in the others face.

He didn't want this. He didn't want pity or advice. He didn't want this.

He didn't want Craig to bring him to the fucking hospital.

He didn't want Craig to listen to a doctor explain the various stressed organs and depleted immune system, patiently and calmly.

He didn't want Craig to hold his hand and smile assuredly with all his stupid pet-names.

He didn't want this.

"I'm  _ fine _ , damnit!" he repeated, voice finally cracking under the strain of his own yells.

Arms wrapped around him and he didn't have the strength to struggle. The broken echo of his last words still shattering the parts of him that were holding it together.

"I know." Kenny's voice was soft, toneless, "I know."

He hated showing weakness. Not to anyone. Not ever. He hated tears, they were meaningless and solved  _ nothing _ , they meant  _ nothing _ .

He hated dissolving into the grip of an acquaintance, shoulders shuddering and breath heaving as he desperately reached for air. He couldn't, he was drowning in the flood of liquid that was being absorbed into Kenny's signature parka.

He hated it, gripping desperately and hoping for the pain inside to dissolve. Just enough that he could breath again. He just needed to be able to breathe again.

"I know."

Kenny's words were neither calming or kind, just factual. Somehow, that helped.

\--

Had Craig's dad always been so short?

The man seemed smaller somehow than all the previous times that Tweek had seen him. Cowed away from the ways he was comfortable with and sallower with an understanding that the clock can never turn back.

Small but no less protective. He held himself at his full height, aware that Tweek still had an inch on him, and a grim line on his lips.

He'd approved of the relationship. The same as everyone else. That didn't mean he didn't see the tremulous nature of it. The many times either one or both of them cracked beneath the pressures of being the towns sweethearts. Of being the sole symbol of love in all it's purity.

Mr. Tucker didn't want his son in a relationship that would ultimately hurt the both of them. Tweek understood and respected this. It worked with his own plans perfectly well.

But that was still over a month away. For now he had to make nice and pretend to go back to love.

He could do that.

"What was it this time?"

The mans voice was tired and Tweek felt that same slow lethargy in his bones. He'd spent all of his emotion at the lake earlier.

"We hadadisagreement." Tweek offered with some honesty.

Something in the hard line of Mr. Tucker's mouth slackened and he really took a moment to look over the boy.

"Tweek, are you alright?"

Not from him too.

Anything but from him too.

Luckily, for all involved, there was Craig pushing his dad aside and tugging Tweek upstairs wordlessly, a flicker of his signature finger doing the talking. Tweek didn't look back the man they'd left behind.

His mind lingered there though.

"Hey, Tweek."

No petname. Tweek's gut plummeted and he sat on Craig's bed, mind exhausted and air short in supply.

He couldn't remember the last time Craig had just said his name like that. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Did Craig want to accelerate their plans?!

His nails dug into the hand, unable to contain the nervous energy and pushing it out in waves. He was too tired. He'd used too much of himself today. Why had he decided to do this today?

Craig wasn't saying anything. There was a glass jar full of paper stars on his desk that Tweek had gifted him a few years back. Tweek stared at it. Focused entirely on the tiny crafts within. Wondering where exactly the one holding a secret wish had landed. If he should find it and remove it.

The colors blurred at the intensity of his focus but that was fine. So long as he didn't need to look at whatever Craig was thinking.

A hand brushed aside some hair before Craig's head was on his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming by."

For what felt like the first time in ages, Tweek breathed again. Had he stopped breathing? It was impossible to say.

Craig wasn't accelerating anything.

Tweek's grip relaxed but his other hand sought out the fabric of the other boys shirt, just for something to hold.

He needed something to hold.

"No problem." his voice couldn't carry a steady pitch and he wanted to hate that.

He didn't have any energy left for hate.

His eyes were heavy and there was that little smell of cinnamon coming from the boy.

The boy.

The boy that he would let go.

That he had to let go of because it was  _ important _ .

In just over a months time he would let go.

He knew he had to.

In the time he had left he decided to hold on tighter.

Goodbye would be his best performance yet.

Holding tight would be his one act of honesty.

He slept the rest of the day away holding on and wishing for a world that didn't exist.

 


	4. Day 14

Stupid Stan fucking Marsh.

Stupid, stupid Stan.

Stupid Craig.

Stupid  _ fucking  _ Craig.

Sure. Just talk to Stan forever. God knows, everyone knows, hell everyone should fucking know that Craig’s obsessed with him.

How did everyone fucking miss it?

The stupid bastard elicited responses out of Craig that were well over the realm of ridiculous. How did no one see this?

How did Craig not see this?

Stupid fucking Stan Marsh.

Tweek would be happy enough if the dude just disappeared.

No, he wouldn’t, because Craig would wonder about it and that would be annoying too and it shouldn’t  _ matter _ .

It didn’t matter. It definitely didn’t matter.

But it  _ mattered _ .

\--

A noise could be heard from downstairs. Tweek grit his teeth. His imagination? Something worse? He was alone.

Of course he was alone.

Because Craig was picking a fight with Marsh today.

And his parents were working.

He was alone in the quiet of a Sunday morning and there was a sound downstairs. His stomach danced unpleasantly with the numbing consumption of anxiety and he peeled his body out of bed.

Whatever piece of shit had decided to make time to invade his home was going to regret it. He stumbled past the desk, not looking at the jar of stars, and took his bat.

Fear stilled his hand as it rested on the door. What if it was worse than a bat could handle?

What if he was left to die because of  _ Marsh _ .

“Fuck you, Marsh.”

He needed coffee. He hadn’t had coffee yet.

He nearly tore the door off its hinges in his rush to get it open. His feet stumbled forward and he swung the bat blindly at the empty hall.

It hit nothing. He glared at the shadows, fingers trailing for a light switch. His body hurt. His mind hurt.

Hitting something with the bat would be so good. Such a release. It would take away the agony jittering his senses.

Stupid Marsh’s head would be nice but no--

He was home.

His friends were all off without him. Too sick, they’d said. Should rest, they’d claimed.

Bastards. What did they know?! Jack shit. They didn’t know  _ anything _ \--

Tweek swung the bat again, this time finding it caught by a shadow.

The figure melded out of the scenery, a dark purple haze of menace. “You should go back to bed, Tweak,” it growled at him.

“ _ Yeah _ ? And who the fuckisgoing to make me?” He tugged at the bat, frustrated at how solidly the figure held it. That was fine. He could take on a shadow. It was smaller than him. He let go of the bat and let old boxing habits take hold.

The intruder dodged backwards at his first two jabs but the third one caught him in the shoulder.

Tweek created some distance on light feet expecting a return in kind; however, a dizzying spiral took his senses at the motion and he nearly collapsed.

Nearly, but he didn’t. He bounced back and dug his feet into the ground. He’d collapse when he was  _ dead _ .

“I’m not here to hurt you--”

“FUCK YOU! Then what are you doing in my house?!”

Craig liked it when he insulted people. Used swear words. Such a stupid thing.

Craig liked a lot of things. 

Craig probably liked Stan Marsh.

Craig would probably ask  _ fucking stupid _ Marsh out when he was finally free of Tweek.

That was fine.

That was  _ fine _ .

“I’m here to investigate the meth.”

Tweek’s motions stuttered and he felt his nausea return with the confusion assailing him.

Right.

He had a fever.

“This is still a home invasion, jackass!”

Craig. Why did everything go back to Craig? This was stupid.

The shadowy figure was stupid.

Stan Marsh was the worst.

“I’ll leave if you go back to bed, Tweek. You need rest. You…” Something that sounded suspiciously like concern coated the grated tones of the intruder, “...you don’t look so good, man.”

Tweek felt a fresh flood of vomit seeping upwards and rushed to bathroom, barely making it in time to puke just adjacent to the toilet.

He could hear wary steps approaching behind him. Wary feet were different than normal steps, why didn’t anyone notice that?! Why didn’t anyone notice anything?! Why did it feel like he was the only person that used his fucking brain in this shitty town?!

“I’m leaving--” he gasped through dry-heaves, “--as soon as I can. I’m leaving. I’ll get the fuck out of here and Craig can do whatever the fuck he wants and fuck whoever he wants!”

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked away from it, once again aware that there was an oddly concerned home invader behind him.

How out of it was he?

Maybe the others were right and he really was too sick to be out of bed.

“Tweek. I need you to listen.”

He stared blankly into the toilet bowl. He knew that tone. He didn’t want to hear this again.

“You’re forgetting shit.”

He grit his teeth.

“You’ve lost so much weight I can see your fucking ribs.”

What if he just smashed the plunger over the bastards head before he kept talking?

“You barely seem to know where you are or when anymore. Your body can’t take much more of this--”

“I  _ don’t care _ !”

“Craig does.”

He smashed the plunger over the offenders head. Whoever he cloaked figure was he was going to  _ die _ .

“How  _ dare _ yo--”

The figure didn’t twitch, eyes locked on Tweeks in absolute calm. “He’s worried sick. Everyone is. You’re getting worse.”

The stranger pushed away the plunger.

“If you’re so scared of Stan taking him,” he continued, “how about cleaning up your fucking act.”

Tweek screamed and rushed him. A regrettable moment that sent them both tumbling in the small bathroom.

“ _ It doesn’t matter _ ! It never did! None of it did. It’s a lie! It’s  _ always _ been a lie! Just getout! GetoutgetoutGETOUT!”

He thrashed to to his own words, blind and meaningless motions that would hopefully terrify the man away.

It didn’t.

“I’m going to put a stop to the drug trade in this town. This is your only warning. You won’t have access to that shit and you’re going to crash.”

Tweek snarled but one sweeping movement later and the caped weirdo had brought them both to their feet. Before Tweek had time to argue with the arrangement he was lifted and plopped onto the bed.

A wave of dizziness took over.

“Stay here. You’re sick. Recover. I’ll get out of your house now.”

And he left.

His teeth stuttered.

Had he ever been there?

Or another delusion? Another lie his mind fed him? Another neuron firing away to feed his mind a insipid twist on reality?

The thought sapped his strength. He couldn’t fight a delusion. He’d  _ tried _ . He tried so often to fight the illusions his mind offered and it was endless. An endless twisting maze he couldn’t escape.

His thoughts circled and he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

\--

“Oh, hey, he’s waking up!”

It was dark.

Had he slept the entire day away?

He looked into the cheerful face of Clyde Donovan and allowed his gaze to trace the assembled faces of his friends. Craig was sitting in his desk chair toying with something, Token was cleaning someone in the adjoining bathroom, Jimmy was holding something for him, Clyde and Jason were leaning over and speaking and-- he should be listening.

“GAH!--What’re you guysdoing here?”

His voice was so dry. It hurt to speak. Someone offered water and he drank gratefully.

“We got worried so we decided to come by after kicking ass.” Clyde grinned ear to ear, “We totally  _ wrecked _ Stan’s team!”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. A thought dragged its way to the surface, unbidden. “All of them?”

Clyde was more than happy to resume his brag. “Yep! Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Butters!”

“Huh…”

Shouldn’t someone else be there?

Tweek knit his brow.

“What about Kenny?”

Clyde shrugged. “Dunno. Probably drunk or high,” he laughed easily, like it was a given.

That didn’t sound right. Jason seemed to agree with Clyde though so maybe it was true.

His mind couldn’t be trusted anymore.

He let his eyes drift toward Craig who had been silent and his gaze locked on the boy.

Still so quiet.

What was he thinking about?

Probably stupid Marsh.

His gaze went back to the pair at his bedside and Clyde looked upset. He strained to think of why.

Jason was saying--something--about Butters?--a fist flew and chaos filled the previous peace. He dropped his water.

A gentle hand touched his head among the pandemonium.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll get them out of here. Just rest.”

Against his will his body relaxed into the words, like a blanket, and the world drifted away.

**Author's Note:**

> ok ngl im a bit anxious about this because i haven't written much tweek before XD there's a lot of aspects of anxiety, thoughts jumping constantly and repetitive mantras that can come off as obnoxious if written poorly so idk XD hopefully it was an enjoyable read<3 I'll try an' update soon


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